control
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Danny's backside is slightly irresistible (okay, maybe a little more than just slightly), and Steve's more than just a little smitten. A series (hopefully) of snippets featuring Danny's posterior and Steve's attraction to it. A side series to "Ho oku i". Not explicit, but there is use of profanity. Latest installment: Features Danny in speedos, and Steve in board shorts.
1. F It All

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making any profit (monetary or otherwise) through writing this.

 **A/N:** missmeagan666 on A03 wrote, "I would love if you did more stories like this with Danny's unworldly ass. Would you consider doing a series of Steve and his love for Danny's ass?" and this is what happened as a result of that. Hopefully (and if there are others interested) there will be more such stories in the future. Inspired by, "Walk Like an Egyptian" The Bangles.

Thanks, swifters, for reading through this, and letting me know it needed a little more.

* * *

Danny's humming a song that Steve doesn't recognize. Hips moving in a way that's sinful, and mesmerizing. He's dancing. Hips and ass moving across the room, capturing Steve in the wake of their movements.

Steve's a man lost and drowning, and Danny's his desert oasis. Dry heat and mirage. A cold glass of water with condensation pooling on the smooth surface.

Fingers clicking along to the beat of a song that only Danny can hear, his ass starts to dip and sway. Steve's mouth goes dry, eyes zeroing in on Danny's ass.

Perfectly shaped mounds of flesh are lost beneath the folds of too much fabric wrinkled from the wash, and Steve wants to rip Danny's unpressed slacks off, press his lover against the nearest hard surface and fuck like it's a Sunday and they've nowhere to be, no one to bring to justice.

Danny starts to whistle the nameless tune. Lips pursed and ass wriggling dangerously close to Steve's unoccupied hands. He sashays past Steve, moving toward the cupboard that houses his favorite cereal. Some overly sugared crap that Steve's threatened to toss out more times than he can count.

Steve's eyes are locked on Danny's ass, though, and all thoughts of sugar and bad diets leading to diabetes flees in the presence of perfection. The way that the slacks stretch over the muscled surface, make Steve's breath hitch, and his fingers twitch. If he touches now, though, the bad guys, whoever the fuck they are, will get away.

'Danny's ass should be outlawed,' Steve thinks, and then revises that thought, because...no. He needs Danny's ass. 'Clothes should be outlawed. Clothes on Danny's ass should be outlawed,' he amends.

Eyes locked on Danny's ass, the room temporarily swirls around Steve, and he's dizzy. Licking his lips, Steve blinks, pictures Danny naked, his hands full, fingers skimming over glistening skin taut over rippling muscles that give way beneath Steve's touch.

Steve holds his breath when Danny shimmies past him, that ass mere centimeters away from Steve's cock. He closes his eyes and indulges in a minute of fantasy – tearing Danny's clothes off, and shoving him up against the counter, fingers and tongue working, working, working that ass, making the man squirm and writhe and cry out...

"All the cops in the doughnut shop sing, ay oh ay, oh ay oh, walk like an Egyptian," Danny sings, and his ass brushes against Steve's hips, the knuckles of his hand. It's electric and fire, a cold bucket of water on the hottest day of the year.

Steve's fingers flex, and touch, and fuck it all. Fuck the office, and the criminals, and everything else that stands between Danny's ass and Steve's hands.


	2. Half Moon

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter

 **A/N:** Inspired by the following comment from sherlock2g at A03: "I don't blame Steve animalistic ways. I'm not an ass person but Danny will make you an ass person." This is cheesy. Sorry.

* * *

Steve's fingers dig into Danny's ass, kneading the tender flesh there.

Half asleep, Danny rolls onto his side. Flinging an arm over Steve's chest, he mumbles something incoherent, and Steve smiles as the move gives him better access to Danny's ass.

'Never figured you for an ass man,' Catherine's voice comes to him, a distant echo, from some place other. It's teasing, and light, and Steve's heart stills at the sense of peace that steals over him, as though he's gaining a blessing from somewhere beyond.

The satiny material of their sheets slip off of Danny's hip, revealing a partial half moon - stark white against their darker bed-sheets - of Danny's left butt cheek.

Still drowsy, Steve is drawn to the perfect mound - mouth, lips, tips of his fingers all vying for first contact.

In the end, it's Steve's tongue that makes gooseflesh break out along Danny's hip, makes the sleeping man moan, grip Steve a little tighter, and rock into Steve with a slow, shallow pump of hips that stops almost as soon as it starts.

'Yeah,' thinks Steve. 'I'm definitely an ass man. But, with an ass like Danny's to come home to, who can blame me?'


	3. Perfection

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter. **  
**

 **A/N:** I'm really not sure where this came from. I sat down to write, and this is what happened.

* * *

 _Danny's ass is a piece of art,_ Steve thinks, and then frowns at his train of thought which has been derailed, yet again, by the exquisiteness that is Danny's ass.

He's supposed to be doing paperwork to close out their latest case, but his work keeps getting waylaid by thoughts and visions of Danny's ass, and Steve thinks that he might be sick.

He puts the inside of his wrist against his forehead, testing for a fever the way that Danny had taught him to do for Grace and Charlie.

He's no hotter than usual, though the collar of his shirt feels a little too tight, and his pants feel a little too tight, and his mouth is dry, and his palms are sweaty.

 _I have a fever,_ Steve thinks. _A fever for Danny's ass._ He snorts, and groans, at the absurdity of his thoughts.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath, fingers poised over his keyboard, ready, and willing, to type.

Steve's office phone rings at the exact moment that he's about to press down on the 'a' key, and he picks it up, absentmindedly spitting out his usual greeting before whoever has called can get a single word in.

"Stop obsessing, Steven," Danny says. "It's not healthy."

"I'm not." It's a token protest and they both know it.

There's a weighty silence where Steve can hear Danny typing away on his keyboard, fingers flying over it like they do when he's talking, when he's cooking, when they're making love...and Steve wonders, briefly how Danny can so easily divide himself between the two tasks - talking to Steve and working - when Steve can't manage to merely think about Danny's ass and type.

Hell, all he can manage to do when he's thinking about Danny's ass is drool, and fantasize, and...fuck if the room isn't starting to close in on him.

Who knew that thinking about the tight perfection of Danny's ass could make him claustrophobic?

"I can hear your obsession from over here," Danny says, sighing. "Knock it off. Finish typing up the notes from the case so that we can go home and enjoy a couple of beers, maybe a steak, on the lanai."

Steve can still hear the clacking of the keys as Danny talks, and Danny's chair squeaking as he leans back in it. He's got the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, Steve can picture it, and he's wriggling his ass a little as he gets more comfortable in the chair, settling in, he'd call it.

Steve can think of a number of better ways, positions, places, where Danny could settle his ass, one of them is in his office, on _his_ lap. He knows better than to voice any of those ideas aloud right now, though, when Danny is in worker bee mode. It won't get him anywhere, and it might land him in the doghouse later that night, if Danny's in _that_ kind of mood.

"Did you even hear what I said, Steven?" Danny asks, irritation evident in his tone of voice.

"Uh..." Steve blinks when the phone is slammed down, the sound echoing in his head like the retort of a gunshot.

The door to Steve's office swings open, and Danny's there, hands posed in front of him, palms pressed together. His lips are pursed, and Steve can see that he's in full on lecture mode.

Steve's a little dizzy, and he licks his lips, because that ass he's been obsessing about all afternoon is finally there, standing in the center of his office, like the statue of Adonis. He's a hedonist. For Danny's ass.

 _Am I drooling?_ he wonders, and he wipes at his mouth. Sure enough, his hand comes back wet, and he just knows that his eyes are nothing but pupil, because Danny's ass is right there in front of him, almost within reach.

His fingers tingle at the very thought of touching that sculpted ass, and his skin feels so tight and hot that Steve thinks he very well might spontaneously combust if he has to listen to one of Danny's lectures about work and responsibility and how important it is to cross every 't' and dot every 'i' on the paperwork without being able to sink fingers, teeth, tongue into Danny's hot ass.

"Steven!" Danny snaps his fingers right in front of Steve's nose, and Steve can't help himself. He really can't.

He'll plead insanity if he has to. He is sick. He's got a fever. A yen. An obsession. Whatever.

He's not responsible for his actions. Not in the face of Danny's superior ass.

He lunges forward, drops to his knees, and works his way around Danny until he's able to rest his forehead against the two rounded mounds of absolute perfection that comprise his partner's ass. He sighs, and smiles when Danny's muscles bunch in reaction to his touch.

"You could bounce a quarter off of this thing," Steve says, voice coming out more than just a little punch drunk. He kneads Danny's ass with his fingers, delighting in the way that Danny's breath hitches, and he reaches back, placing a hand on Steve's head as an anchor.

"Uh, Steve, could you maybe uh...kindly release my derriere? We ah...Kono's watching," Danny says, voice getting higher, and words running together at the end.

Steve tilts his head to the side, a little confused as to why his lover is talking like that, and why on earth Kono has walked in on them, and he sees that Danny's blushing. It's becoming.

"Red looks good on you, Danno," Steve says. "I'm getting you a polo shirt. In red. No, strike that, tomato."

"Wha-who says things like that?" Danny asks, completely flustered, and adorable, ass cheeks bunching beneath Steve's fingertips, skin flush with embarrassment.

 _Definitely tomato,_ Steve thinks, makes a mental note to run by the store sometime this weekend, or order something online.

"I would knock, but the door's open," Kono says, and Steve can hear the teasing in her voice, and the reality of where they are - at the office and not at home - nearly sobers Steve, but it doesn't, because he wants this, no, he needs this.

Kono's not at all put out that the door's wide open, that she can see Steve kneeling on the floor, groveling, and worshiping that which rightfully belongs to him. She won't be calling in a complaint on them for misconduct, or sexual harassment, in the workplace.

She's not repentant either, when she walks in, ignoring Danny's spluttering, and places the notes she'd typed up on Steve's desk. She shares a wink with Steve, and blows a kiss in their direction as she leaves the office, curtsying and quietly closing the door behind her.

"The blinds, Steven," Danny hisses when Steve's hands resume their roaming.

Wanting to see his lover's face, Steve peers around Danny's hip, head tilted to the side and up. Not releasing his hold on Danny's ass, lest it get away, Steve tightens his grip, and gazes up at Danny. Danny's lips are slightly parted, his eyes glassy, but fixed on the partially opened blinds. Steve applies some pressure on Danny's hips, drawing his attention away from the blinds, and to Steve, where it should be. He can't wait until they get home to do this. Can't wait another second.

Steve's bottom lip trembles, and he turns his best impression of Grace's puppy dog eyes (he'd taken lessons from her -if he'd learned one thing from his days in the Navy, it was that you should always learn from the best, and, hands down, Grace was the best at wrapping Danno around her little finger) on Danny, silently pleading.

"I need this, Danny," Steve says. "I need you."

Snorting, Danny shakes his head. Giving his lover an indulgent look, he turns away from Steve. "No, you don't. You just love me for my ass. You're not fooling anyone with that whole genuflecting act you've got going on. Go ahead, Steven, get it out of your system."

"Never," Steve says adamantly. "And can you blame me?" Steve asks. "I mean, it's your ass, Danny. I only get to spend limited amounts of time with it. You-"

"Get pains in the ass, pimples, and sores, just like everyone else, and I want to see how much you adore my ass, and wax poetic about it when it's red and inflamed from diarrhea, or all bunched up with constipation, or - fuck, Steven? What...we're...we can't do this in the office..." Danny's protests turn into a moan of pleasure as Steve sinks his teeth into Danny's ass, not hard enough to bruise or cause any lasting damage, but definitely hard enough to make Danny see where Steve is going with this, and that he needs to stop running off at the mouth with horror movie scenarios of what could possibly happen to his flawless ass.

"Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?" Danny asks, voice weak as his knees seem to be getting.

Steve pushes Danny toward his desk, intent on bending him over it, so that he can give it the undivided attention and reverence that it warrants as he plies fingers and tongue and lips and everything that he has at his disposal to the proper adoration that Danny's ass - that Danny himself, always so hard at work, and rarely at play, admittedly like Steve - deserves.

"Let me love you?" Steve asks, and he kisses first one perfectly round globe, and then the other, stomach clenching at the way that Danny holds his breath at his words, and his touch, and then lets it out unsteady, like Steve's words and actions have moved him. And then Danny relaxes, and Steve's stomach does a happy little flip.

 _It doesn't get any better than this_ , Steve thinks, as he helps Danny out of his slacks and boxers, eyes feasting on skin that's been evenly tanned thanks to some nude sunbathing on Steve's relatively private stretch of beach.

Anyone who _had_ happened upon Danny, in the nude, had walked away with a happy smile on her, or his, face, and a bounce to their step, and brushing off Danny's embarrassed apologies with eyes glued to his ass, and stammered answers along the lines of: " _No, really, it's okay, man. No harm done. Believe me."_

"Yeah, Steve," Danny says, voice husky. "Love me."

"Already do; always will," Steve says, more certain of this than anything else in his life, staring at the masterpiece in front of him, and wondering how he got to be so damn lucky.


	4. Oglers Beware

**Disclaimer:** See the initial chapter.

 **A/N:** Inspired by a comment made by Sherlock2g on A03 - "really want a chapter where Steve gets super jealous at people checking Danny out." (not sure if this is showing Steve jealous enough)

* * *

It could be his imagination running wild with him again, but Steve doesn't think so. Women and men alike have been checking out Danny's ass all afternoon. Steve is certain of it.

It doesn't sit right with him, because that ass, while it might not actually bear the words, 'Property of Steven J. McGarrett,' is still, in all ways that matter, his.

Danny would probably punch him for even thinking something like that, but Steve can't help it, and, it's not like he hasn't thought it before. Danny hasn't noticed. Yet.

Besides, he has a right to his thoughts regarding his partner's rather exquisite derriere, especially with all of those people ogling Danny's ass. The ass that he'd staked his claim on ages ago, before Danny had even realized that their attraction was mutual, before they'd gotten together, back when Steve had been pining after something that he'd never thought he'd ever actually get.

One day, when he gets Danny good and drunk, he's going to make sure that the ass he's staked his claim on bears his name in a more permanent fashion than that of the marker variety. Maybe add a red heart with an arrow going through it as well. He knows a tattoo artist who owes him a favor. More than one actually.

Steve knows that his mind _should_ be on the case that they're working. That he _should_ keep his eyes peeled, not for ass-gawkers, but for the perp they're searching Waikiki's streets for.

Described as a skinny, yet muscular, dark haired, and tan skinned man, Steve has his doubts that they'll be able to pick out the pickpocket, turned killer, in the crowded streets. But they've found their perps with less descriptive details before.

When he catches yet another woman's eyes lingering a little too long on his partner's backside, he knows, for a fact, that there is nothing wrong with his imagination, or his eyesight. He needs to set things to rights before they take another step forward, because this is getting out of hand, and he has a job to do, and he can't when people are treating his partner, and lover, like eye candy. No matter how fitting a descriptor that might be.

"Did you just growl?" Danny asks, turning toward him, and the woman smiles as she gets an unobstructed view of the backside she'd not so subtly been checking out earlier.

 _Two can play at that game,_ Steve thinks a little uncharitably.

Steve doesn't deny the growl, and he growls again when the woman licks her lips, and Steve catches a blonde haired man, eyes on Danny's ass, nearly walking into a light pole, because he's walking backwards to keep Danny's posterior in his line of sight.

"Wha-"

Steve swallows Danny's question with a kiss that swallows a whole lot more than just Danny's words, and earns the pair of them some hoots and hollers, as well as a few disgruntled, _Get a hotel rooms_ , and not so mature, _Ews._

Steve doesn't stop there, though, lost in the kiss, in what Danny would not doubt call his animal instincts to mark his territory, Steve deepens the kiss, draws a moan from Danny, and his hands fly to that glorious backside.

He grips Danny's ass in his hands, and squeezes, hard, smiles at the resulting hitch in breath, the twitch, the way that Danny's mouth opens even more to accommodate Steve's need.

They're both suspended in time, the world moving at its normal pace around the two of them. He hears a sharp intake of breath, a cleared throat, what sounds like the clicking of several camera phones. He keeps his on silent, wonders why the rest of the world doesn't, and then he's lost to all thought as Danny rolls his hips into him, and Steve kneads the mound of flesh beneath his fingertips.

And then Danny pulls back for air, and the world is tilting, and the woman and the blonde haired man are still there, watching, mouths gaping open in shock, or lust, Steve doesn't know. Doesn't care, because their eyes are no longer on Danny's ass, but on the two of them. And if Steve's not mistaken, there is some drool gathered in the corner of the blonde man's mouth.

Danny blinks at him as he draws in lungfuls of air, a fish drowning on dry land, and then he does punch Steve. On the shoulder. There's no heat behind the punch, though.

"You're an animal," Danny says, breathless, pupils black pools.

Danny's lips are wet and plump, they glisten in the sun, and Steve leans forward, intent on capturing those lips once more, of running his hands proprietorially along Danny's backside, and proving that he owns the ass that people think they can make eyes at.

Danny's eyes narrow to blue slits, and Steve's widen in worry that he's been caught out, but Danny pushes his shoulder, leans in close to whisper, breath tickling Steve's ear, his neck, and collarbone, going straight to Steve J. M., Jr. making him stir in places that should not be stirred in the middle of a stakeout.

"You will do anything to catch a perp, won't you?" Danny whispers vehemently, a trace of humor in his voice. "I suppose it shouldn't shock me anymore."

Instead of yelling, or lecturing Steve, though, Danny kisses along the underside of Steve's jaw, and then he draws Steve close, hands resting on Steve's hips. Steve's hands return to the swell of Danny's ass, and he knows that there's something else going on right now. That Danny's words are not a riddle. That he should be alert, but all he can think about is how firm, and yet pliable Danny's ass, like putty, is beneath his fingertips.

Danny's right hand slips up beneath Steve's shirt, and Steve moans, hips bucking forward of their own volition. And then Danny's hand is on the hilt of Steve's gun, and things start to click into place a few seconds _after_ Danny's pulled Steve's gun, and pushed Steve off to the side, shouting, "Hands up! Five-0."

It takes a few more seconds for Steve's mind to go from the blissed out feel of kissing Danny, to the realization that Danny somehow, even in the midst of a mind-blowing kiss, not only recognized, but also managed to collar their perp. He's a little hurt, truth be told, but when he sees the huge grin on Danny's flushed face as he turns to look at Steve, he grins back.

He watches Danny zip-tie the hands of their killer pickpocket, no small amount of pride filling his heart to swelling, and, out of the corner of his eye he can see that the woman is still there. She's still watching, eyes glued to Danny's rear end where Danny's shirt has come free of his slacks, revealing a patch of tanned skin.

They exchange a look. Each raising a single eyebrow. She offers him a small, challenging smile. Steve smiles back. It's wolfish, a smile that's all teeth. Feral. It screams, _Back the fuck off or you will be sorry, bitch._

"Babe," Danny calls over. "Stop glaring down the witnesses. C'mon, let's drop this guy off for processing, and get back to the office."

Steve doesn't move.

Danny sighs. "Tell you what, how about if I read him his Miranda Rights, you can train that impressive glare on him rather than that innocent young woman. How's that sound?"

Steve wants to argue that the she-devil who's now practically eye-humping Danny is no innocent, but Danny's tugging at him, giving him an exasperated look of love that nearly fells him.

Steve can see that Danny's completely oblivious to the looks that he's getting from the woman; from the young man who is leaning against the lamp post he'd walked into; from a man who's old enough to be Danny's father, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all, almost childishly sticks his tongue out at all of the voyeurs, because, while all eyes appear to be on Danny, and his spectacular ass, it is clear that Danny only has eyes for Steve. That, in and of itself, is a victory.

Steve's almost giddy with the knowledge that, inasmuch as Danny is his, he's also Danny's, and that the only looks that appear to matter to his partner are those that he gets from Steve. No one else matters to the detective. It's heady. Dizzying. Exhilarating.

Steve shakes himself, turns away from the harridan who has a defeated look on her face, and smiles as he watches the bounce and sway of Danny's ass as the man walks toward the police car.

Steve can hear Danny's voice, a sarcastic lilt to it, as he reads the man his rights, interspersing sidebar comments along the way. Steve almost hisses when he catches the perp's eyes glancing back, his gaze turning downward toward Danny's ass.

Part of him wants to slam the man's head into the pavement, take the man's eyes out with his bare hands, but Steve knows that such a reaction to a little ogling would be considered a bit over the top, even for him. Still, he doesn't like the way the man is looking at his partner. It's greasy, slick, and Steve wants to put some kind of protective shield on Danny's ass to keep these kinds perverts from looking at Danny.

The perp's Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and Steve jogs to catch up with his partner, 'accidentally' whacking the pickpocket cum killer on the back of the head in passing. When they get back to the office, Steve is going to make sure that Danny, and his ass, are safe from idle eyes, and in his line of sight at all times.


	5. Drunk and Besotted

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

 **A/N:** Not sure what inspired this, other than the desire to write. This chapter has some crude language in it, and some people might consider some of this to be a bit on the lewd side.

* * *

He's drunk. Danny's drunk.

It's a been a long, hard week, and Danny's played hard to get, or maybe he's just kept his ass out of Steve's reach because they've been busy on an intense case, and neither of them needed any distractions. Not that Danny's ass hadn't been a distraction anyway.

In any case, Steve's feeling restless, and more than just a little put out, because he doesn't ask for much. There's just one thing that he needs, and most of the time, he gets at least a taste of it, no matter how busy they are.

Not this past week, though. Danny had kept a tight rein on his ass. Tight being the operative word. Damn those skinny jeans that Kono had gotten Danny for his birthday, and damn the woman for 'accidentally' spilling coffee on Danny's slacks necessitating the change from his usual work attire to that denim torture device.

 _Fuck_.

Steve swallows. His beer's gone warm, and Danny's bending over, ass in Steve's face, as he reaches into the cooler for another beer, snagging two of them by the neck and turning to offer Steve one, dangling it in front of him. He's completely oblivious to the ache in Steve's chest, the mirrored ache in his groin, the want that Steve knows is being telegraphed in his eyes. Not that Danny notices, or can see. It's dark on the lanai, and it's been a long day after a long week, and Steve can see the exhaustion in every move that Danny makes.

None of it is fair. Steve wonders if his ass puts Danny through even half of the turmoil that Danny's does him. If it does, Danny's never said anything, and Kono hasn't seen fit to dress Steve in anything other than tee-shirts that are two sizes too small.

He reaches for the offered beer with clumsy fingers that have gotten thick and dumb after just a few beers, and sighs at the goofy smile his partner gives him.

Danny's a happy drunk tonight.

He spins around, and falls forward, into the cooler, Steve catches him, hands landing on Danny's ass, fumbling a little. The beer falls, forgotten, amber liquid trickling out onto the cement, and Steve hoists Danny backward, settling him awkwardly on his lap.

Danny laughs, arms windmilling slightly as he attempts not to spill any of his own beer. He's mostly successful. Some of it winds up on his tee-shirt, some on Steve's. It doesn't matter, though, because Steve's night just got a whole lot better.

"Let's get tattoos," Steve blurts out the words against the back of Danny's neck. A vague notion that he should act quickly before either of them have an opportunity to think too much about it crosses his mind, but it's gone before he can keep track of it because Danny's ass is a dangerous distraction.

Danny smells like sweat and Steve's aftershave, because he'd run out of his own the day before and had borrowed Steve's. It's an intoxicating scent that makes Steve dizzy. Steve licks his lips, his tongue grazes the back of Danny's neck. He tastes of salt and something not unlike vinegar.

Danny's ass is wriggling on his lap, and Steve doesn't know if he can control himself much longer. If Danny doesn't settle soon, Steve's going to end up mauling him. When it comes to Danny's ass, Steve's hands have a mind of their own.

He balls his hands into fists, closes his eyes, and wills his mind to focus on the gentle breeze, the melodic sound of the wind chimes Grace had given him for Christmas. She'd made them herself, using shells she'd found on the beach, and chimes she'd gotten from Ben Franklin's. Instead of soothing him as they usually do, the sounds coming from them are jarring and cacophonous.

It has been too long since he's been this close to Danny's ass, and Steve is steadily losing control. None of his usual methods of self-denial and delaying gratification are working. He can't compartmentalize, because Danny's ass is planted firmly in his lap, rounded globes resting on Steve's thighs, a welcome weight on his groin. If Danny were to start bouncing in his lap, or twist in a certain way, Steve would lose it completely.

It's not fair. Steve is a Navy SEAL for fuck's sake. He's endured far worse tortures in enemy territory than this. Not that having an ass on his lap is torture, but the denial of enjoyment is. Surely he can endure a drunken Danny practically dancing on his dick without cumming in his shorts, or making the wrong kind of ass out of himself by pawing at his drunken partner like a teenager who's just discovered the pleasurable art of masturbation, and learned where to stick his dick.

His skin's tingling, and his fingers are twitching, the nails digging painfully into his palms, and even though it's a cool evening, Steve's uncomfortably warm. Danny's ass is a veritable furnace, and that's not just because the man gives new meaning to the word, 'hot,' on an almost daily basis.

"Tattoos, babe?" Danny questions, half-turns in Steve's lap, making Steve's breath hitch, and increasing the tightness in Steve's jeans.

Danny's brow is crinkled in confusion, but he takes another sip of beer, Adam's apple bobbing in a way that allows Steve to track the movement of beer down Danny's throat. It's mesmerizing. Steve blinks, and Danny turns again, ass wiggling in Steve's lap.

"Danny." Steve moans, bites his lip, and listens to the wind chimes jangling in the breeze coming off the ocean.

The stars are out, but Steve doesn't need to open his eyes to see them. It's hard to breathe, hard to think straight, hard to keep track of what it is that Danny's saying about his suggestion that they get tattoos. He's wondering why he suggested it in the first place as he loses himself in the moment, hips bucking up into the curve of Danny's ass as Danny continues to squirm in an attempt to find a 'comfortable' spot on Steve's lap.


	6. An Animal Obsessed

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

 **A/N:** This is really short. Thanks for reading through for me, Swifters, and csi_sanders1129.

* * *

"Did you just bite my ass?" Danny turns his head and gives Steve a look that's filled with disbelief and incredulity.

It's a look that borders on cute and adorable, rather than sexy or angry, and Steve's heart skips a beat. He scowls at himself, because he's not a fucking teenage girl, yet seeing Danny like this - spread out like a sinful smorgasbord of carnality - does all kinds of things to his heart that Steve fears may not be on the healthy side of the fence. Danny's a fucking malasada, cocoa puff, and jelly doughnut all rolled up into one compact body, and Steve's got an insatiable sweet tooth.

Danny's lying naked in Steve's bed, head pillowed on his arms, hair disheveled, body slick with the sweat of after-sex, and, yes, Steve bit his partner's perfect ass. He can already see the bruise forming, the distinct pattern of his teeth mapped out on Danny's left butt cheek. A declaration of ownership that proclaims that Danny is Steve's.

Cats and dogs mark their territory with piss, and scent, Steve marks his with teeth and tongue, by sliding up Danny's body to kiss the back of the man's neck, and suck at the skin there until it bears the fruit of his labor.

"You're an animal," Danny declares, but there's no heat in his words, and he doesn't shove Steve off. Instead he settles beneath Steve's weight, and sighs in contentment, tugs Steve's arm so that it helps to pillow his head.

Steve would beg to differ if he wasn't so singularly focused on marking Danny as his for all the world to see. He's not an animal. He's an animal obsessed.


	7. Mine to Spoil

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

 **A/N:** written in response to the dreamwidth fan_flashworks community challenge, butt, and to a review left by a reader on A03.

* * *

"Quit your manhandling," Danny complains, shoving Steve's hands away from him and scowling.

"But..." Steve trails off.

He's not sure how to give voice to his concerns and knows that Danny won't appreciate whatever it is that he does manage to come up with should he decide on what to say. If anything, he'll just end up becoming an object of mockery if he explains to Danny why it is that he's shoving a donut cushion at him and trying, but failing, to make Danny as comfortable as he can, given the circumstances.

Danny rolls his eyes and gestures for Steve to come a little closer. Reluctantly, Steve does. He loves Danny, but he does not trust the look on the other man's face.

"Steven, stop coddling. I am just fine. It was only a flesh wound," Danny says, voice surprisingly soft and understanding. "I'm fine, I promise, babe."

"I know." Steve runs a hand through his hair.

He knows that it was just a flesh wound. He'd been there when Danny had been shot by the man they'd been chasing at the docks.

He'd been there when the paramedics had arrived.

He'd even been there when the doctor, tongue-in-cheek, had declared that Danny was going to be fine, if a bit tender for a few days.

He'd seen the trail that the bullet had made through Danny's flesh, had even traced it with the tip of his finger and showered it with kisses in the privacy of their bedroom.

He'd borne witness to the stiff way in which Danny now walked and had seen the dark bruises covering his otherwise impeccable skin.

It didn't make him feel any better about any of this, though. Didn't make him want to coddle Danny any less, or declare him unfit for work until he'd fully recovered.

"It's just..." Steve frowns when Danny narrows his eyes at him and points a finger in his direction.

"That's _it_ , you're cut off until you get this fetish that you have with my ass under control," he says.

"But, Danny," Steve whines. "Your -"

"I know, Steve, I have a fine derriere, but it's _my_ derriere, not yours, and -"

Steve doesn't let Danny finish the rest of his thought, because Danny's wrong about this. Danny's ass does belong to him, just as his ass belongs to Danny. He captures the rest of Danny's words in a kiss and smiles when Danny sighs into the kiss and leans against him.

When they pull away to take a much needed breath, Danny's eyes are glazed and he looks completely ravaged. It's a good look on him.

"You're wrong," Steve says, voice husky, eyes locked on Danny's. "Your ass is _mine._ "

The look of challenge in Danny's eyes goes straight to Steve's gut and he cannot wait to get home and prove the truth of his words, though, given Danny's injury, he'll go easy on him.

"It's mine to spoil and ravish as I see fit," Steve says, handing Danny the donut shaped cushion and smiling when Danny concedes to use it, though not without an eye roll.


	8. For My Eyes Only

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

 **A/N:** Inspired by Mikey Bustos' parody of "Despacito" called "I Wear Speedos". Of all the songs I listened to this afternoon, this is the one my brain decided to be inspired by. It's a fun song. This is kind of a silly chapter.

* * *

"Uh, Danno, what're those?" Steve blinks in astonishment at his partner. mouth dry, palms sweaty.

"What? You don't like what I'm wearing?" Danny asks. He spins around and shakes his ass in Steve's face, earning a sub-vocal growl from his partner.

"Danny." Steve's voice sounds strained, and Danny smirks when he turns around and sees the hungry look on his partner's face and the telltale bulge in his board-shorts.

"What? This bothering you?" Danny moves closer to Steve, grabs him by the chin and forces his eyes to look up at his face. "Hey, eyes up here, animal."

Steve swallows and groans. " _Danny,_ " he whines.

Shaking his head, Danny presses a kiss to Steve's lips, then steps away and runs down the stairs and out the backdoor to the lanai. He's only a few steps ahead of Steve, having caught him off guard (not easy to do when your partner is an ex-Navy SEAL).

He makes it one step into the ocean before Steve is upon him, tackling him into the surf. Laughing at the possessive look in Steve's eyes, Danny wraps his legs around Steve's middle and tries but fails to wrestle his partner into the shallow water. After a little bit of tricky maneuvering, he does manage to wriggle out of Steve's hold and swim a few feet away from his partner.

"Uh, uh, you can look, but you can't touch," Danny says, striking a pose that shows off his biceps and his package.

"You trying to kill me, here, Danno?" Steve asks, eyes glittering darkly with lust rather than anger as he stalks closer to Danny.

"What, can't control your libido?" Danny teases.

"You're evil," Steve says, circling his partner like a shark circling its prey.

Smiling, Danny turns to keep pace with Steve. "I hardly think that I'm evil. I'm just working on my tan, besides these make me look macho."

"Is that so?" Steve's grin is shark-like, and Danny swallows thickly.

Nodding, Danny soon finds himself tackled yet again. Muscled legs wrap around him, and he goes down, hard. He laughs when Steve lifts him bodily from the water and carries him out of the ocean, water sluicing from their bodies in sparkling rivulets.

They don't make it far, just to one of the Adirondack chairs on the lanai. Danny's red speedos are a casualty in Steve's haste to help his partner strip down to nothing. Steve's board-shorts don't survive long either. Their lovemaking is fueled with a passionate lust that leaves both of them breathless and completely sapped of strength afterward.

"You gonna replace those?" Danny's question is answered with an affirmative grunt, and he sighs in contentment, enjoying the warm breeze and the possessive way that Steve's arms are wrapped around him, their naked bodies entwined.

"If you admit that you only bought them to torment me," Steve says after a moment's pause.

"If I'd known that all it would take was a pair of speedos to torture you, I'd have bought a pair years ago," Danny admits.

"You can't wear them in public." Steve's voice is matter-of-fact, as though he's speaking law.

Danny raises an eyebrow and gives Steve a challenging look.

"C'mon, Danno, you _know_ they're not dignified beachwear," Steve pleads when he sees the mulish look in Danny's eyes.

"Not, not dignified?" Danny sputters. He attempts to pull away from Steve, but Steve holds him closer. "I'll have you know that I bought those because I liked the way they fit and -"

"Fine," Steve interrupts. "Fine, if I admit that the reason I don't want you to wear them in public is completely personal will you consent to wear a sensible pair of board-shorts when we're out in public?"

Danny relaxes a little and searches Steve's eyes before narrowing his own. "Speedos _are_ sensible," he says, though he does stop fighting Steve's hold.

"Danny, they're sex magnets," Steve says.

Lips twitching, Danny manages to keep a straight face when he repeats, "Sex magnets?"

Steve shrugs and nods, looks away before giving Danny an almost pained look. "When I saw you in them, all I could think about was getting you out of them and -"

"Pounding me into the surf?" Danny asks.

"You're evil," Steve repeats his earlier accusation. "You knew all along what you were doing to me, admit it."

"I'll admit to nothing of the sort," Danny says. "You, on the other hand," Danny says, punctuating his words with playful jabs into Steve's chest, "have to learn to control your libido. _You_ were an animal."

"Only because you made me one," Steve says, lips turned downward into a pout.

"That's rich," Danny says. "Who tore off my speedos and completely ruined them?"

"Who ruined my board-shorts?" Steve counters.

"Those were already damaged," Danny says. "I was doing you a favor."

"Doing me a favor?" Steve asks, propping himself up on an elbow. "Well, if you were doing me a favor, I was doing everyone on the island of Oahu a favor by ripping those...those eyesores to shreds."

"Eyesores?" Danny gives Steve an incredulous look. "Your swim trunks had so many holes in them that I'm surprised you didn't get cited for indecent exposure."

"Indecent exposure?" Steve points a finger at the torn remainders of Danny's ruined speedo. "That's the very definition of a speedo, my friend."

Danny snorts and crosses his arms over his chest as he rolls away from where he'd been draped across Steve's body. "And here I thought they were 'sex magnets'." Danny adds air quotes around the phrase Steve had used to describe the speedos just minutes earlier.

"Look," Steve says with a sigh. "I'm sorry, can you just not wear speedos out in public?"

"I like how they felt," Danny says, frowning. "They gave me a sense of freedom, and they made me feel sexy."

"You _are_ sexy," Steve says. "With or without speedos. You're the sexiest man I know."

"So, technically, it shouldn't matter where I wear speedos," Danny says. "I mean since I'm the sexiest man alive and all that, it really shouldn't matter _what_ I wear or who I wear it in front of."

"That's _not_ what I said." Steve sighs, and Danny can practically hear an eye roll accompanying Steve's words.

"So, I'm _not_ the sexiest man you know?" Danny asks.

"Stop putting words in my mouth." Steve growls and moves to straddle Danny. "You _are_ sexy, and you know it. I just don't want you flaunting yourself all over the island."

"Flaunting? Really, Steven, flaunting?" Danny keeps his arms crossed over his chest, though he can't keep the smile tugging at the corner of his lips from his face.

"Yes, flaunting." Steve's stare is dark and intense. "You can't really blame me for wanting to keep that fine ass all to myself, can you, Danno?"

"Well, considering it's _my_ fine ass, and technically not _your_ fine ass, I think I can do whatever I want to with it," Danny says. "Up to, and including, flaunting."

"You're a tease," Steve says, leaning down and capturing Danny's mouth in a searing kiss. "Please, Danny..."

"Please what, Steve?" Danny asks when he can breathe again.

"Please promise me that you'll only wear speedos for me?" Steve begs.

Shaking his head, and chuckling, Danny pulls Steve down for a lingering kiss.

"Tell you what I'm going to do," Danny says after a pause, he smiles at the beseeching look in Steve's eyes. "Since you asked so nicely, fine, I'll only wear speedos for you, though I've got to tell you that if you keep ripping through them like they're nothing more than paper, you're going to be the one buying them."

"I'll buy you all the speedos you want, Danno," Steve promises. "Just so long as you wear them for my eyes only."

"For your eyes only," Danny agrees.


End file.
